


I Am

by moriartyshouldseemeinacrown



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sherlock does drugs, john spends all his time making tea, sherlock is almost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 13:19:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moriartyshouldseemeinacrown/pseuds/moriartyshouldseemeinacrown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes, at ten years old, decides he is nothing. He gets help from the school bullies of course, but he has stuck to this his whole life. Until drugs made him feel almost. And then the drugs are gone and he's empty again. John Watson shows up and suddenly Sherlock thinks he could make it back to almost, and maybe even everything. </p><p>Excerpt: </p><p> </p><p>  <em>Sherlock walked home, a tear in his trousers and mud all over his shirt. His hair was mussed, his lip was cut, and he had bruises on his arms. A school bully had attacked him because he deduced that the boy's father and mother were getting a divorce. He was right, of course, but the boy didn't like that. So a group of large friends was rounded up and turned on little ten-year-old Sherlock.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am

**Author's Note:**

> Just wrote this at 1AM guys bleh
> 
> basically I was feeling like I was nothing (literally thought "I am nothing.") then saw this post on tumblr something like dont let a name make you think you are one single thing and then boom I brainstormed this v quickly and wrote it. Tell me what you think!!

_I am nothing._

Sherlock walked home, a tear in his trousers and mud all over his shirt. His hair was mussed, his lip was cut, and he had bruises on his arms. A school bully had attacked him because he deduced that the boy's father and mother were getting a divorce. He was right, of course, but the boy didn't like that. So a group of large friends was rounded up and turned on little ten-year-old Sherlock. 

By the time he got home he was sick of tasting blood and he threw his bag into his room. He took off his shoes, then his socks, and changed into pajamas so he could curl up in bed. Before he could pull the duvet back, though, his brother appeared.

"Let's get you cleaned up, first." Mycroft asked no questions of who did it (he could see it clearly enough anyway, he was the one who taught Sherlock how to deduce). He washed Sherlock's face and arms and put gel on the bruises to heal them, then gently brushed his brother's hair out so it wouldn't tangle even more in his sleep. 

Mycroft washed Sherlock's clothes as his little brother crawled into bed and pulled the covers up, surrounding him. The words the boys had said to him ( _"You're nothing!" "You're a liar!" "You're a freak and no one likes you!"_ ) replayed even as he fell asleep.

~~**~~

The needle slipped quietly into his arm, the plunger was pushed down and Sherlock was hit with instant euphoria. He dropped the syringe and fell back against the couch, pressing his hands together under his chin and closing his eyes. Now he could think, now he could breathe, now he could almost be something.

He was so close, he could feel it. He was almost. Not quite whole, not quite missing, but almost. The drugs helped him in this way. No one else understood. Mycroft yelled and Mummy cried. Father was dead. 

Sherlock turned his mind back to the current problem he was working on and retreated to his Mind Palace. 

He came back an hour later, pupils back to normal size, to see Mycroft looming over him."You're being sent to a rehab clinic." Was all he said before walking out the door. It took a moment for Sherlock to process the words before shouting and running after Mycroft.

~~**~~

Cold turkey. He was going cold turkey. What an odd thing, he thought, to call becoming clean. Mycroft had forced Sherlock into the best rehabilitation center he could find and it had been three weeks. He had escaped the first week, then been put under maximum security. A guard trailed him always. 

He had the shakes, he vomited, he was freezing and hot and just plain _done_ with withdrawal. Sherlock slept all the time, he was anxious, couldn't concentrate. 

The almost he had achieved was gone now. He was back to empty. Because what else was there if not for drugs? 

He cursed Mycroft, cursed himself, cursed the world. Then he fell asleep, his guard watching with eyes narrowed from the door.

~~**~~

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Sorry?"

"Which one was it? Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you...?"

~~**~~

After their first chase they lean against the wall together and smile, laugh. Angelo gives John his cane back and they laugh again. 

Sherlock's scared John will leave when he learns about the drugs, though he would never admit it. But when they walk from the crime scene, after John shot a man for him, he thinks this could be a good start for a good thing. 

He feels more almost than he ever did with cocaine.

~~**~~

"Why are there toes in the tea tin?" John yells though Sherlock is less than five feet away.

"Experiment. Don't touch them." He smiles when he hears John close the lid quickly and throw it back in the cupboard.

"You'd better hope we have more tea or I'll strangle you." He moves boxes around and finds another tin, this time containing actual tea. He sighs in relief and makes two cups, setting one next to Sherlock who is spread out on the couch. John picks up Sherlock's feet and pushes them off before settling right where they were, Sherlock huffs and shoves his feet under John's thighs. John just smiles at him and Sherlock mock glares, feeling giddy because he cannot remember being this happy. 

~~**~~

Case solved. Adrenaline high. Two AM. Sherlock and John collapsed on the couch in giggles at how the murderer had reacted to Sherlock. They both feel ecstatic, and they're suddenly very close and their pupils are large. Sherlock leans in quickly and presses his lips against John's sloppily, pulling back just as fast to watch his reaction. 

John's eyes widened when Sherlock kissed him, and when he moved back John pulled him closer and smashed their lips together again. Opening his mouth he licks Sherlock's bottom lip and Sherlock gives him access, letting their teeth click together and Sherlock's hands are tangled in John's hair. 

They both pull back and stare at each other, then John giggles and Sherlock chuckles and they're leaning on each other for support. They agree that it's crazy and it's stupid and it's perfect. So John makes tea and Sherlock grabs a blanket and they sit on the couch, curled up against each other and watching crap telly. 

Sherlock smiles and thinks,

_I am everything._

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are welcome! Tell me what you thought!


End file.
